


Doctor Who - 10/You - I am always here

by Samstown4077



Series: You/real person - You/fictional character [10]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Comfort, F/M, Friendship, Hurt, Requested, emotional comfort fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2019-11-20
Packaged: 2021-02-17 22:21:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 875
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21500716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Samstown4077/pseuds/Samstown4077
Summary: When angst and fear are overwhelming, then there will always be one person come to help. The Doctor. Requested comfort fic on Tumblr.
Relationships: Tenth Doctor&Reader, Tenth Doctor&You
Series: You/real person - You/fictional character [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/238923
Comments: 4
Kudos: 14





	Doctor Who - 10/You - I am always here

**Author's Note:**

> This is a requested fic I got on tumblr, after checking my blog once more after ages, so I am not sure if the person has gotten my message about it. I wrote it within short moments because I felt it was urgent and I felt guilty for not coming back to that person. If you read this, I hope you feel okay and I am sorry I reacted so late!

It is late. It is night, and it is cold. It is scary, and you are alone. 

‘Nobody is really alone in this world’, it’s what people often say to you.

You know better because you simply know how one can feel. How misunderstood and judged. 

You are not afraid of the dark, you afraid of what would happen when the sun would come back. Another day, gruesome and unbearable. The thoughts go wild, and you can’t be the master of them. You’ve tried, you lost so often, you stopped counting. 

Some doctors, therapists try to help you, try to tell you everything will be better when you just work hard enough. They mean it honestly, but there are doctors, they maybe know about the soul but not about the heart. 

And there you sit, in the park on a bench, crying out of rage and out of unhappiness. Your hands are covering your face because it’s better when no one sees you like that. Too many questions then, too many actions in need to help you, you wouldn’t be able to bear. 

“Oi!” a voice reaches your ears, someone sitting beside you.

You freeze, panic arises. What shall you do? Take a look? Or keep hiding? Do as if you aren’t there.

“Listen,” the someone is whispering, and you startle, but keep your hands in place. “Just listen!”

One part of your brain is telling you to run away because there has never been a good person in the middle of the night been in the middle of the park. Also, there is the other half, telling you to stay put. 

“I am the Doctor,” the voice says calmly, “I am here to help.”

You feel a gentle touch at your elbow, only for a second. Slowly you shove your hands to the side, trying to get a look at the person beside you. 

A man, wearing a brown coat, a blue suit and his hair stand up in the most ridiculous directions. He motions a “hi” when he sees you peeking, and he doesn’t look like a threat. 

“You don’t look like a Doctor,” you say because when you know something, you know how doctors look.

He chuckles, “I am not that kind of Doctor.”

“What kind of Doctor are you then?”

His head goes from left to right, uncertain how to put the explanation into a short phrase, “I need your help,” he says instead.

“Help?”

“Yeah, help, make it easier or possible for someone to do something by offering them one’s services or resources.”

That’s right off the dictionary; you aren’t stupid. You are close to telling him you are a bit busy with your problems here, but…, “w-what kind of help?”

He leans in, whispering conspirational, “There is a monster in this park.”

“A monster?”

“Yes, a monster,” he gives you a devilish smile. “It feeds of worries, and sadness and depression.”

You forget to breathe for a moment, “W-what?”

“It’s looming right around the corner,” he explains quickly, “But I know how to beat it.”

“How?”

“Close your eyes, please,” he smiles at you and beside you know it’s a stupid idea, you do. 

“And now?”

“You tell me,” he says, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Everything. About your therapy, about your fears.”

It shocks you to hear this from him, and you are about to take your eyes away again, but then something happens, you haven’t reckoned with. 

He jumps up, only to fall to his knees right in front of you, holding you gently in place, his head on yours, his hands covering yours, “just tell me and I will listen,” he whispers softly. “Together we will make the monster go away.” 

How often have you told someone? Why would it make a difference with him?

“Because I know, because I care,” he answers your silent question. “Because I am always here, even when I am not. There,” he touches you by your temple, “and there,” he touches your back, where your heart is beating underneath. 

The warmth of his hands and body against yours make you what you never did before, you speak, you tell. Everything. The fear. The pain, the uncertainty. The sadness in the world and inside of you. And he whispers into your ear, that it is okay to be weak, to feel sad, to feel afraid, to feel overwhelmed. Because only then we can find happiness in the small things, find being at ease in places like a park at midnight. 

“And when the monster comes again, there is just one word you have to say.”

“Which word?”

“Stop! Stop right there; this is my territory, this is my pain, my loss, my sorrow, and I am not going to give it to you, because it makes me strong, it makes me the person I am. It’s not a flaw, it’s my strength, and you have no saying over me!” 

Then he lets go. And when you open your eyes again, the man is gone, vanished and you wonder if you have dreamed. 

In the distance, there is a noise, a funny noise of wheezing and whirling. 

You haven’t dreamed about this man, and there you know, the monster is beatable. 

  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Due to the quick writing, this is not my best work but so it is. It's part of the "requested fics" I wrote for different people on tumblr, as "What would Vermeer say to all this" and some others, I tagged this story into the needed Series.
> 
> In case you need a comfort fic or similar, written especially for you, do never hesitate to contact me. Best via comment or my email address you'll find in my profile.


End file.
